A Little Childhood Comfort
by Sigmaropi
Summary: The aftermath of Jessica's death.


Dean worried about his brother.

Well, he was always worried about Sam, but this was different. Since Jessica had died, which was over two months ago, Dean was almost one hundred percent sure that the younger Winchester had not had a full night's sleep. And sure, Dean was worried that Sam wouldn't be sharp enough to watch his own backside, but it was something more. Dean was worried what this would do to Sam. He pretended not to, but he heard his brother. Padding around the room at some ungodly hour, and when he did manage to catch a few hours of sleep, yelling out for Jess, tossing and turning. And Dean had to pretend he couldn't see the dark circles under Sam's eyes, or the lines appearing on his face that made him seem so much older.

Dean just wanted to make it okay. He wasn't one for emotional crap, but this was something that he really did want Sam to talk about. He knew that if the younger kept it bottled up inside, kept it all locked away, the stress of it would drive him insane. Or kill him. Neither were options that Dean liked, and he didn't want to have to watch his younger brother spiral downwards. Every time he tried to bring it up, though, Sam would skirt around the subject, and act as though everything was fine. Dean wasn't stupid, but he didn't want to piss off Sam. That wouldn't help anything.

-  
Dean lay on his back, staring upwards. He could hear Sam, only a few feet away, turn over restlessly, mumble something. Dean knew what was coming next. He had grown accustomed to the pattern of Sam's nightmares in a way no one should be able to. Sure enough, the cry came.  
"Jess! No!"  
Dean had convinced himself he was prepared for the strangled cry, the one almost identically to the cry that had ripped its way out of Sammy's throat the night Jessica had died. But he hadn't been prepared, not in the slightest. Normally Dean would allow himself to roll over, convincing himself he would talk to his brother in the morning. Tonight though, he made a decision. He wasn't going to let Sam suffer through these nightmares, at least not for the rest of that night anyway.

Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The things he did for this pain in the ass. Moving slowly, he reached over and shook Sam's shoulder. It was times like these he cursed the fact that his brother was a heavy sleeper. Dean shook again with more force, and Sam woke, gasping like a man almost drowning. Dean pretended not to see him rub the tears out of his eyes.  
"Nightmare," Dean said by way of explanation for so rudely waking his brother.  
"Yeah," Sam replied, his voice almost unnoticeably shaky, "I figured."  
Dean endured the awkward silence for a minute or so. "Wanna talk about it?" He asked finally.  
"No."  
Dean had been expecting that exact reply. He paused, waiting, "You sure?"  
"Dean, just drop it, will you?"  
"Remember when we were kids?"  
The question caught Sam so off guard that he actually turned to look at Dean, "What?"  
"Do you remember when we were kids, and you used to have a bad dream?"  
Sam looked partially incredulous, "You mean when I would tell dad and the best advice he had was to stock up on ammo?"  
"No, smartass," Dean replied. How could Sam not remember? "I mean when dad would say things like that, and then you would come to me, because I knew what it felt like?"  
Sam stopped in the middle of brushing a hand through is hair. It almost sounded like Dean was being…what sentimental?  
"Don't give me that look," Dean said, following his brother's train of thought in a way that only made sense to the two of them. "Just…listen. You used to come to me, and you would tell me about your dreams. And then I would let you sleep next to me, in a non-gay way, and in the morning, you could barely remember what the dream was,"  
"Yeah, but Dean I was seven,"  
So he did remember. Good, that was one step closer to what Dean was aiming for. "My point is that it helped. Talking about it,"  
"That wasn't what helped," Sam said, almost grudgingly.  
That definitely stopped Dean, "What?"  
"I said that wasn't what helped me."  
"Yeah, I heard you. What'd you mean?"  
"I mean the thing that helped was afterwards…when you let me sleep next to you. Knowing that someone was there…you know, to protect me. You always protected me," Sam sounded almost too awkward on this subject.  
"You never told me that," Dean sounded almost hurt.  
"Didn't need to, cause it always worked," Sam turned over, away from Dean, trying to put an end to the conversation.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt his whole body pushed forwards. "Dean what're you doing?"  
"Shut up and move over," Dean grunted.  
Sam did as he was told, but looked immensely confused. "Why?"  
His answer came in the heat of his brother's body. Sam felt Dean arrange himself on the bed, lying face down, his arm thrown over Sam. There was nothing awkward about it. It was something they'd done hundreds of times as kids. And despite himself, Sam turned, allowing it. The warmth was comforting, in a way that made Sam feel protected, more protected than he had been in weeks.

It was the first time Sam had slept through the night since Jess' death.


End file.
